


Only Love Can Hurt Like This

by phandomsub



Series: Tumblr prompts [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, M/M, Pity Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Stripper Dan Howell, Stripping, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomsub/pseuds/phandomsub
Summary: Phil Lester stumbles into a strip club with nothing to lose but his last forty pounds.





	Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Phil takes another swig from his beer bottle as the soles of his leather shoes drag along the footpath. The dry-clean only jacket on his shoulders is in a dire need of cleaning; a double-breasted peak lapel blazer that had been tailored exactly to his measurements not six months ago, now hanging listlessly from his body. The designer shirt it overlays has its first three buttons carelessly undone and a stain on the collar that may be tequila, but he can’t be sure. Water clings to the cuffs of his trousers, crawling up his legs from puddles scattered around whatever aimless streets his unsteady feet have taken, and the satin tie that accompanies it all hangs around his neck, limp and loose, like a threaded noose waiting for its executioner.

Phil throws back his dishevelled head to drain the last drops of beer, the mouth of the bottle echoing an empty sound as it pulls from his lips. They’re cracked and chapped – rough like the five o’clock shadow that ghosts his jaw, eight hours behind the hands that tick over on Big Ben somewhere to the far east. The street around him is mostly dark and silent, the graffitied shutters of lifeless shops and Vietnamese restaurants rolled down, but every now and then he’ll pass a lit stairwell heading down into the depths of a dirty bassline. It isn’t the safest of areas for a drunken salesman, but when there’s nothing in his wallet but a single crumpled note and a torn photograph, there isn’t much to fear being mugged of – not even the kids in the photo, nor the woman on the missing half, are his to steal anymore. At thirty-seven years of age with nothing to his name but twenty pounds and a title of bankruptcy, Phil Lester doesn’t have a lot left to lose. Although, he supposes that’s not entirely true. He reminds himself of the second twenty with a pat to his breast pocket. For investing, he thinks – in what, however, he’s not quite sure.

Phil stops suddenly, hazy head swimming as he turns to stare down the street behind him. It looks almost identical to what’s laid out before him and, even as he squints his bloodshot eyes, he can no longer see the bar he’s come from. How long has he been walking now? Five minutes? Ten? It’s hard to believe he hasn’t passed a twenty-four hour convenience store by now, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been turned around somehow. Walking in circles, or perhaps just in the only wrong direction. He isn’t sure – all he knows is his desire for another drink is outweighing that for a new pack of cigarettes.

That’s what ends up stopping his staggering feet again once they’ve covered another block. They grit to a halt on the storm-soiled concrete outside the next bar. It looks just like the others – rickety steps descending into a vaguely ominous red glow – except for the name on the buzzing neon sign hung above the faded awning. _Boys in Boots_. Phil blinks at it, unable to understand much past the fact that it hurts his dilated pupils. His lagging mind slowly catches up and, once he comprehends that there is more liquor inside, he tosses the empty glass bottle towards the gutter and enters the club.

When he reaches the foot of the stairs, Phil’s brain miraculously speeds up as he realises just what kind of club it is he’s stumbled upon. The doorman barely gives him a second glance as he drifts into the low-lit room, more concerned with his phone than checking the ID of a man who is clearly well of age. The air inside the club is hot and heavy and the music is loud, playing a theatrical pop song Phil recalls hearing on the radio station his kids liked to listen to from the backseat of his repossessed Audi. There are a few other men sat around on black vinyl benches and a bar pushed into the corner, lined with row after row of the poison spiking Phil’s blood, but he can’t seem to focus on anything other than the stage in the middle of the room. Although, it’s not so much the stage itself, but the boy on it.

He’s young – surely not much older than twenty-one, judging by his youthful body and boyish face. He has a head of dark-brown hair, straight but stylishly mussed, feathering out around his ears that are pierced with black studs. It’s what he’s wearing that first catches Phil’s attention; nothing more than a pair of black lace panties that barely cover the back, their arched opening showing almost the entirety of his lush, perky ass, clinging to his toned body by the bow that rests on the base of his spine, and two thigh-high boots that stretch his long legs even further. He looks incredible, but it’s his hips that suck Phil into this narrow world of tunnel-vision. It’s the way they sway and dip as he moves himself around the pole, while the brass beat of the song plays along to the pounding of Phil’s heart.

It’s as if all the air is ripped from Phil’s lungs. Perhaps it’s the surprise of seeing something so beautiful in such a dour setting, like the poppies that grow in a field of war. He doesn’t belong here, yet he’s got everyone wrapped around his little finger as he moves that stunning body in sensual, fluid motions. For a moment, the way the boy dances helps him forget. He forgets he’s stood, stunned, in the middle of the walkway; he forgets his throat is dry and aching for another drink; he forgets there’s a steadily fading tan-line on his left ring finger. As the powerful vocals serenade them both with words of _only love can hurt like this_ , Phil forgets all the ugly in the world. When the song fades out, so does the spell, and Phil is left blinking rapidly as the boy steps off the stage.

There’s a scattered chorus of wolf-whistles and cat-calls that sound more like insults than praise to Phil’s ears, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind. The music starts up again and another takes the stage, but Phil is still consumed by the one with the brown hair. Phil watches as he glides towards an older gentleman sitting in the darkened sidelines, who announces his intentions by a curt wave of the hand. The thirst in Phil’s throat is making itself known again, but he ignores the burn and keeps his eyes on the boy as he straddles the mans’ legs and starts to move, slow and filthy, in his lap. Phil’s attention is torn as he experiences an abrupt rush of vertigo, and suddenly the urge to sit down overrides everything else.

There’s a spot at the back of the club that’s somewhat secluded from the other customers – a small bench nestled behind the booming speakers, with a cross-eyed view of the stage. Phil drops onto the worn cushioning, his head spinning at a pace somewhere between nicely buzzed and close to vomiting. He drags in the sickly, dank smell of the club with a lungful of oxygen and leans back against the cool mirrored wall behind him, glossy eyes slipping in and out of focus before falling shut. He breathes deeply, calming the swell in his gurgling stomach that’s lined only with liquified assets and bitterness. How long he stays there, fighting the rebellion of his body, he isn’t sure. All he knows is when the voice rips him back to reality, the nausea is gone.

‘Hey there, Daddy. You doing okay?’

Phil has to blink a few times to bring the boy into focus. When he does, his edges still remain soft and blurred by the bright lights behind him. He’s even more breathtaking up close – there was so much Phil missed from afar, like the soft jut of his full bottom lip, or the thin layer of eyeliner that darkens his brown eyes, or the inkling of a deep dimple that appears as his mouth twitches.

‘Yeah,’ Phil says, breathless once again. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You looking for a dance?’ the boy asks, hitching his knee up on the bench beside Phil’s thigh.

‘Yes,’ Phil says without a second thought, then stutters, trying to shake even a hint of cognition into his head. ‘I-I mean, how much?’

‘Twenty,’ he says.

Phil’s shaking hand digs out the Burberry wallet from his back pocket in a fumbled frenzy. The mixed liquor has his fingers numb as they wrap around the very last bill inside the stretched leather and hold it out, clasped between pointer and thumb. The boy snatches the cash with his own steady, smooth hand and tucks it into the top of his right boot. Phil doesn’t move, hardly even realises the money is gone – he’s too consumed by the grin the boy flashes him, a stretch of pink lips that’s somehow laced both with a pure innocence and a promise of sin.

‘What’s your name then?’ he asks, as he pushes up on his knee and hovers his lavish body over Phil’s.

‘Phil Lester,’ his mouth replies on reflex, the rest of his vitality engulfed by the sight of the flawless, bare chest in front of him, so close he can feel its radiating warmth.

‘Well, hello there, Mr Lester,’ he says in a sultry voice as he settles down on Phil’s lap; the warmth swallows him entirely. ‘I’m Dan.’

Dan doesn’t give Phil a chance to reply before he starts to move; any possibility of forming coherent words dries up entirely on Phil’s heavy tongue as those magnificent hips begin to swivel against him. Dan presses his palms to the mirror and pulls back up to his knees, tilting his head downwards to idle his plump, parted lips just above Phil’s as he grinds to the slightly distorted music. Phil’s eyelids flutter as he’s overwhelmed with a cocktail mix of arousal and desire – it slides down his throat, sweeter than the Tequila sunrise that’s long since faded from his tastebuds.

‘You look so handsome with your suit all ruffled like that,’ Dan says lowly, hot breath hitting Phil’s face and sending shivers up his neck.

‘Yeah?’ Phil chokes; a hint of hope smuggles its way out, wrapped in a slight slur.

‘Mhm, like a sexy, roughed-up James Bond,’ Dan smirks, biting his bottom lip as he rolls his body in a way that has Phil’s breath catching.

‘O-oh,’ Phil stammers, a rush of heat that stretches past arousal flooding his gut. ‘Thank you.’

The fervour in Phil’s bones grows tepid as Dan slides off the bench, his alcohol-addled brain aloof to the passing of time, but Dan’s only moving to turn his taut body around. Now Phil can see the beautiful, tanned expanse of his toned back – he follows the lovely dip of Dan’s spine with his eyes, from his small shoulders right down to the dimples above his underwear. Phil’s chest shudders as they sweep down further, locking onto his pretty ass, peeking out from beneath the revealing lace.

Every muscle in Phil’s body fluctuates between tense and relaxed as Dan sits back down in his lap, upper body careening forwards and boot-clad legs spreading, their stiletto heels pressing firmly to the sticky floor. Then, with his hands hooked on the edge of the bench, he starts to twist his hips and grind his ass ever so lightly over Phil’s crotch.

‘Fuck,’ Phil says, the heat beneath his skin rising as he struggles to sit still.

‘You like that, huh?’ Dan says, looking back at Phil over his shoulder, fringe falling into his eyes. ‘You like my ass?’

‘Yes…God yes,’ he says.

The reaction time of Phil’s body is stunted by the alcohol and the edges of his comprehensive abilities are blurry at best. He doesn’t know when he starts to get hard, but he certainly feels it now – that sensitive pressure building in his Calvin Klein’s. The arid longing in his throat is replaced by a thirst for something entirely different as Dan continues to glide that plump ass across his thighs, that tight little bow the only thing keeping the rest of his supple skin hidden. He notices the wonderful arch in Dan’s back just a little too late, unable to properly absorb its beauty before Dan is seamlessly switching his position again. He swings one leg around, body twisting back to face Phil, and then he’s getting back up on the bench, except this time the heel of one boot presses to the vinyl while the toe of the other hooks onto its low-riding backrest. Phil’s jaw slackens as the boys’ lace-covered crotch hovers mere centimetres from his face.

‘How about this, hmm?’ Dan gushes, looking down at him. ‘You like me like this?’

Phil nods numbly, eyes fixed not on the soft bulge of Dan’s cock, but the gentle crease where the top of his thigh meets lace. The skin looks so invitingly smooth there – Phil’s thumb itches to trace along the delicate dip. His dry palm aches to press against something warm and firm and _real_ , for the first time in God-knows how long. The sudden desire for intimate human contact is both overwhelming and utterly devastating.

‘Uh-uh,’ Dan says quietly, catching the wrist of Phil’s right hand as it drifts mindlessly towards his thigh. ‘Touching is extra, big boy.’

‘How much?’ Phil rushes.

Dan crouches down, his long legs folding in until he’s once again at eye level with Phil.

‘Thirty and you can touch me through these,’ Dan says, unwrapping his fingers from Phil’s wrist to run them over the hem of his underwear. ‘Fifty and I take them off. A hundred and we go somewhere private, where you can watch me have a little play with myself. Which would you like?’

Phil’s trembling fingers burrow into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out the folded twenty pound note and offering it to Dan without a beat of hesitation.

‘It’s all I have,’ he says, when Dan’s eyes linger on the cash.

‘We’ve got an ATM,’ Dan says, cringing mildly at his break in character.

‘No…I mean,’ Phil says, pausing. ‘I have nothing to withdraw. This is all I have.’

Dan’s dark eyes drag from Phil’s outheld hand back up to his face; even through his drunken stupor, Phil can see the pity in them.

‘I can’t,’ Dan says, voice dropping to something much more genuine. ‘I’m sorry.’

There’s a split-second where Phil’s ingrained reflex to push past rejection urges him to sweet-talk his way into closing a deal. He falters, lapses, before merely nodding in understanding and tucking the note back into his pocket. Dan’s sympathetic eyes remain on him for a moment, searching across the rough expanse of his face. Then he’s slowly slipping back down onto his knees, pressing in closer until the warmth of his solid existence is consuming Phil once again. Dan’s musky scent overpowers the cheap, syrupy smell of the strip club; it invades his hindered senses and has Phil’s eyelashes fluttering with desire as Dan’s lips brush against his ear.

‘But, my shift ends in,’ Dan pauses to grab Phil’s hand, pulling up his sleeve to reveal his silver Rolex, ‘ten minutes. Meet me in the bathroom when I knock off, yeah?’

Phil sits in a stunned silence, any soberness creeping back into his head immediately hazed over by his pulsing arousal. Dan pulls back with a cheeky smirk, eyes twinkling despite the stage lights blaring behind him.

‘I hope you enjoyed your dance, Mr Lester,’ he whispers, slipping off Phil’s lap.

As he walks away, heels clicking and hips swinging, he glances back over his shoulder at a flustered Phil. The wink he sends has Phil’s blood-pressure skyrocketing.

 

*****

 

Phil checks his watch for the umpteenth time as he feeds the small pile of coins into the machine on the wall, the shot he’d used to break the note still burning in his throat. As he presses the second button and fumbles the condom out of the depository slot, he tries not to think about how he could be spending his last few pounds on a misunderstanding. Under the sterile, florescent lights of the bathroom, the idea of Dan actually meeting him there to have sex with him almost sounds ludicrous. Despite the logic niggling at the back of his mind, Phil slides the single foil packet into the front pocket of his trousers. He takes a moment to bid a silent goodbye to the last dull golden coins left in his palm, before, one by one, they too clank down the metal shoot.

The bottom button sends a travel-sized bottle of lube tumbling from the machine with an echoing thud. Phil wonders whether he’ll be relieved if Dan doesn’t show. The answer, of course, is no, but he isn’t naive enough to think that fucking a stripper in a public toilet is a good idea. With his life already submerged in turmoil, he doesn’t need the added stress of public indecency on his record, much less a fine he won’t be able to pay. Phil sighs, tucking the bottle into the pocket of his blazer, just as the bathroom door creaks open. He turns on waterlogged legs to look and, suddenly, all his worries become futile when he sees Dan. One glance at his soft, warm body and Phil is powerless.

‘Hi,’ Dan says with a small smile, youthful face still glowing, even under the harsh lights.

‘Hey,’ Phil says, otherwise speechless.

‘Well, let’s go then, Mr Lester,’ Dan says, holding out a hand towards Phil.

‘Go?’ Phil asks, staring at those long, thin fingers for far too long.

‘Yeah. I’m not going to let you fuck me in the men’s toilets, you know.’

Phil’s heart pounds a fiery mix of shame and embarrassment through his veins as he stutters a ‘No?’

‘No. We’re gonna do it in the ladies,’ Dan says with a nonchalant shrug and a flash of his cheeky grin. ‘They’re closed. Come on.’

His hand curls in a silent prompt, calling to Phil’s calloused fingers; they move obediently to slide in a strangely perfect fit between Dan’s. They twist tighter together as Dan turns, heels clicking over from linoleum to cheap wood as he leads Phil’s numb feet back out into the club. The loud music surrounds them again as they move further down the hall, Dan’s confident strides keeping Phil in tow, until they’re slipping through another door with a printed out-of-order sign tacked haphazardly to its black paint.

Their brief spell in the pounding bass has Phil’s head spinning again and he struggles to keep up with the rush that follows the closing of the door – Dan’s free hand on the lock, on his shoulder, and then he’s stumbling backwards for a few steps before finding purchase on a closed toilet seat. He blinks up at Dan, vivid beauty juxtaposed by the defaced walls of the cubicle that frame him, and then the boy is sliding effortlessly back onto Phil’s lap.

‘So, Mr Lester….’ Dan murmurs, fingers creeping up to weave together behind Phil’s neck.

‘Please,’ Phil says, eyes darting across Dan’s face, so close to his own, ‘call me Phil.’

‘Okay, _Phil_ ,’ Dan says, lips crooking upwards and dark eyes gleaming. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you want to do to me, now you’ve got me here.’

Phil’s heart pounds in his scorched throat as he brings his shaking hands up to Dan’s clavicle. His fingertips graze across his deep collarbones; they trace the slope of his shoulders and trail up his neck, and then his large hands are moulding gingerly around the sides of his face.

‘I want to kiss you,’ he says, voice breaking on something that’s neither arousal nor intoxication. ‘Can I kiss you?’

The practised flirtation in Dan’s eyes falters once again to reveal something akin to compassion. He nods, veiling his second-hand sadness as his long lashes flutter closed and his full lips pucker. Phil drags in a calming breath and holds it tight in his lungs, the only thing he has to lose as he leans forward and presses his lips to the younger mans.

The kiss is placid and feather-light, yet it still sends a strong surge to every nerve-ending in Phil’s body. His shoulders tense as he moves his mouth against Dan’s, slow and tender and wistful. He tilts his head and Dan’s bottom lip slips between his own, cracked and dry around sweet and plump – an odd fit, but a fit nonetheless. Dan’s kiss sends near-paralysing tingles through Phil’s touch-starved body. It suspends him in a sedated trance of euphoria – until Phil’s vodka-laden tongue laps at the space between Dan’s teeth and the brunet hums subconsciously in contentment. The low sound snaps Phil out of his elated state, flicks a switch inside him, and suddenly he’s hyperaware of the taut, sexy body straddling him and the arousal burning in his gut.

Phil’s hold on Dan moves from his face into his hair. His grip shifts from lax to tight, silky brown locks twisting between his fingers, and then he’s plunging his tongue right into Dan’s willing mouth. Dan hums louder, chest keening forwards as his nimble fingers follow, working their way into Phil’s knotted, black hair. Phil grunts as Dan sucks his tongue deeper into the wet warmth of his mouth and jolts when dull teeth sink into it. His fingers curl tighter, pulling Dan in closer as they kiss, hard and messy and heated, until he’s absolutely starved of oxygen.

‘Can I touch you?’ Phil pants, pulling back abruptly. ‘Please, can I touch you?’

Dan answers with his hands. He wraps his fingers around Phil’s thin wrist and drags his palm down over his neck, his chest, to press it tellingly to his lower stomach. Their eyes catch, and Phil stares in awe at the intensity burning in those brown irises. His hand lingers there, twitching, flush against hot flesh, until Dan urges it again. He pushes it down, down, until the tips of Phil’s fingertips are dipping beneath the band of his underwear. Phil chokes on a sharp inhale as his hand sinks lower into Dan’s panties, gliding over waxed skin and brushing the base of Dan’s hardening cock.

‘Do you wanna touch me here?’ Dan whispers, fingers releasing Phil’s right wrist before travelling back up to latch onto the other; he drags Phil’s clammy left hand down across his peck, his ribs, his lower back, until it’s resting on his exposed ass. ‘Or here?’

‘I…’ Phil breathes. ‘I want to touch you everywhere.’

‘Well,’ Dan says, looping his arms around Phil’s neck and pulling him in close. ‘Do it then.’

Their lips meet again and Phil is plunged straight back into his hungry frenzy. He kisses Dan, wet and desperate, as he squeezes his little ass, swallowing the soft gasp he makes. His left hand roams frantically over Dan’s body – skimming up his back and down his spine, rubbing across his shoulder-blades and down his thighs, ghosting up his chest and over his nipples – while his right presses to that tender strip of skin right above his swelling cock. Dan breathes heavily into his mouth between kisses and nips at his tongue as Phil maps out every inch of skin he can reach.

‘Shit,’ Dan gasps as Phil’s fingers find their way back to ass, breaching just so between his firm cheeks. ‘How about I take these panties off so you can play with me properly?’

Phil nods, hands easing from Dan as the boy slides from his lap – cool air rushes in to take up the space he leaves and Phil’s hard cock twinges in his pants, missing the placating pressure Dan’s weight had brought. He presses his hand to it in substitute, rubbing himself languidly through his trousers as Dan stands in front of him. Their eyes lock as Dan winds his hands behind himself, carefully untying the bow that holds his panties together and letting the strings hang loose. He looks down at himself, fringe falling across his face, as he hooks his fingers under the sides and slowly – torturously slowly, with a teasing sway of the hips – edges the lace down. The tendons in Phil’s hand flex with another wave of arousal as Dan’s dick slips free, hard and gently flushed. Dan bends to work the underwear down his legs and over the feet, stepping out of them to stand on display in nothing but a pair of thigh-high boots.

‘Christ,’ Phil gushes, resting his free hand on Dan’s prominent hipbone. ‘You’re so beautiful.’

Phil slides his hand around to linger on Dan’s lower back, palm rough on supple skin as he pulls him in. Dan’s legs part to balance a heel on either side of Phil’s, long body stretching out above him. Phil can feel the blood thrumming in his lips as he presses them to Dan’s stomach.

‘So beautiful,’ he murmurs against him, eyes slipping shut as Dan’s natural scent fills his lungs.

Phil can’t tell if he’s still drunk or just high on the boy in front him. All he knows is that the salty tang of Dan’s skin dulls the bitterness in his gut, so he swallows it down like medicine, kissing across his belly and lower, licking over his hips and the subtle V that leads to his pretty cock. His stomach growls and, now that he has the taste of him on his tongue, he’s ravenous. Phil runs his hands over the backs of Dan’s upper thighs, ignoring the ache of his own dick as his fingers itch to caress every last part of him. They slip up to cup his ass, prying his cheeks apart and sliding between them. Dan groans softly, shuffling his legs wider.

‘I want to…Can I finger you?’ he asks on an exhale.

‘Fuck yes,’ Dan says.

Phil’s hand pats at the front pockets of his jacket, diving inside when he feels the hard bulge. As he takes out the lube, Dan is already shifting, supporting himself with one hand on Phil’s shoulder as he lifts his left leg, far past the realm of normal flexibility, to hook onto the metal shelf high on the cubicle wall. Phil’s breathing stutters as Dan opens up for him, his sleek, bare cock now so close to his mouth.

‘So beautiful,’ Phil says again as he cracks open the lube.

With Dan’s legs spread so wide, Phil’s slick fingers glide between his ass cheeks without resistance. It’s been years – near on decades – since he’s done this, but muscle memory has him rubbing across Dan’s hole with a pressure that sinks eager fingernails into his shoulder. Dan huffs a low whimper as the tip of his pointer presses at the tight muscle; Phil’s cock throbs in wanton desire as they slowly part for him, letting him slip inside the heat of Dan’s body, before greedily taking in the entirety of his finger.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Dan groans, grinding down with a rock of his hypnotising hips.

‘That feel okay?’ Phil asks, sliding his finger in and out of Dan with a lovely, wet sound.

‘Feels nice,’ Dan sighs, looking down at Phil, cheeks tinted rose-pink. ‘But not enough. Fuck me with two.’

Phil nods, pressing at Dan’s loosening hole with his middle finger and twisting it in alongside his pointer. Together, they push even deeper up into Dan’s pretty ass, stretching him further apart, and Dan’s head tips back with a moan as he’s filled so nicely.

‘Yes, fuck, that’s so good,’ he groans.

Phil marvels in unabashed adoration as Dan fucks himself down on his moving fingers, his slim body swallowing them up enthusiastically and his lips emitting quiet gasps of gratitude. His head is hit with another bout of dizziness, brought on this time not by excessive drinking, but by sheer disbelief. He buries his face back into the small mound of soft flesh padding the hard muscles of Dan’s stomach, drinking in his musk and basking in the way his abdominals clench with the pleasure he’s finding in Phil’s fingers. Phil’s wrist drives them in harder, with more vigour, if only to feel those muscles seize for him more often.

‘Fuck!’ Dan whines, pitch rising as his hand finds its way back into Phil’s messy hair; Phil can hear the heel that’s taking most of Dan’s weight gritting against the tiles as he fucks down harder. ‘Feels so good. Fuck. Wanna touch myself.’

‘Yeah?’ Phil says, lips vibrating against him.

‘Yeah, you want me to?’ Dan pants. ‘Want me to play with my cock for you, Daddy?’

The slight unsettlement in Phil’s stomach lurches into a violent nausea; he flinches back at the vivid image of strawberry-blonde hair and bicycles.

‘Please don’t call me that,’ he says.

Dan’s eyes peel open at the change in Phil’s voice. The sensuality slips from his face as his pupils dart between Phil’s, replaced with some deviation of shame and guilt.

‘Fuck,’ he curses, hips stilling. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t–‘

‘It’s fine,’ Phil says, thrusting his fingers up and making the boy gasp, despite himself. ‘Why don’t you play with yourself a little bit?’

Dan looks unsure for a moment, but another thrust and Phil has him slipping back into his pleasure. His eyes drift shut as his hand leaves Phil’s scruffy hair to wrap around his straining cock. He whimpers and keens into his own touch, hips jerking sporadically between fucking himself onto Phil’s fingers and into his fist. Phil watches, feeling his sanity slowly unravel as the gorgeous boy touches himself mere centimetres from his face. It has his mouth salivating with hunger despite his careless dehydration; he craves the taste of Dan on his tongue again and can’t help but dip forward to mouth at his balls as he pumps his shaft.

‘Oh my God,’ Dan gasps, thighs tensing and shuddering.

‘You taste so good,’ Phil whispers, between long laps of his tongue.

‘You’re gonna make me come,’ Dan half-laughs, half-moans, his hand stalling with clear difficulty. ‘And I don’t want to come before I’ve even seen your dick.’

Phil pulls his mouth back from the haven of Dan’s salty skin and looks up to catch the powerful glint in his eye. His lips stay slack as he nods, carefully sliding his fingers out from Dan’s slick hole. The boy moves again, smooth and effortless, both feet returning to the floor – he swoops in to crouch in front of Phil and his nimble fingers are quick to find the buckle of his belt. Phil’s breathing intensifies as leather straps pull from beltloops and the teeth of his zipper pull apart; then it’s ceasing altogether when a warm hand slides into his underwear and wraps around his pulsing cock.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he moans, eyes closing; the feeling of another person touching him like this isn’t new, but is certainly close to forgotten.

‘Fuck is right,’ Dan murmurs, pulling Phil’s hard dick from his pants and admiring its length with two adoring hands. ‘I should have asked for more than two fingers. Fuck, you’re big.’

Phil doesn’t have the capacity to try and quench the childish swell of pride that stirs in his chest from Dan’s praise. Nor does he have the ability to offer Dan a third finger, as the boys’ mouth is suddenly wrapping around the head of his cock and sinking down, right to the root. He gasps, intuitively gripping at Dan’s ruffled hair, but putting no pressure as he pulls back off with a moan and a pop of his lips.

‘And thick,’ Dan adds – Phil shudders as the compliment feeds his starving chest.

Phil’s hips lift compliantly as Dan’s hands move to tug at the sides of his trousers. The fitted material takes his underwear with it, exposing him entirely to the rising temperature of the bathroom. As they bunch around his thighs, Dan’s sharp eyes catch the glint of silver foil in Phil’s pant pocket and it’s promptly pinched between his fingers, corner cutting on his teeth. Phil stares, submerged in yet another break in belief that this is reality as the pretty boy rolls the condom down his length.

‘You’re going to make me feel so good with this,’ Dan whispers, eyes flicking up to watch Phil’s reaction as his fingers crawl, without permission, into Phil’s blazer pocket – he takes the small bottle of lube and uses it to slick up his sheathed cock. ‘And I’m going to make you feel so good, too,’ he continues, dropping the near-empty bottle on the cubicle shelf as he stands and settles, once again, onto Phil’s lap. ‘With this.’

Phil chokes on a moan as Dan grinds his ass down on him, fingernails digging into invisible ribs in sweating anticipation. Dan rocks his agile body back and forth, Phil’s cock sliding deliciously between his cheeks, before pushing up onto his heels to line the head with his stretched hole. Phil clings to Dan as he feels himself breach inside him, fights to keep his vision locked on the boys’ lovely face, but then Dan is sinking down, burying Phil’s cock deep inside his tight, hot ass, and he finds himself breathing heavily into his neck instead.

‘You okay?’ Dan asks, wrapping a soothing hand around the back of Phil’s neck. ‘You’re shaking.’

‘I’m okay,’ Phil gasps. ‘You just…you feel so good.’

‘Can I move?’ Dan asks; quiet, gentle.

Phil nods against Dan’s purring pulse point, sucking in another dose of the salty-sweet scent that sends his head spinning off his shoulders. It starts off slow; Dan gently rocking his tight body in Phil’s lap, driving his cock into himself in long, languid motions. Phil’s completely encompassed in the warmth Dan’s body offers, lost in a comfort that may only be fleeting, but still feels so real. He groans lowly over Dan’s rising pants as the boy progressively speeds up. He clutches at him, fingers digging bruises into those spellbinding hips. He squeezes his eyes shut, allowing the staggering sensations to take over him entirely.

Phil starts to fuck up into Dan with force, the sharp noises he makes keeping him thrusting again and again. Dan’s meeting him with just as much passion, moving so frantically Phil’s cock is barely even sliding from his ass – they’re mostly grinding, hard and dirty. Dan’s gripping at the metal shelf, taking any leverage he can get to push himself down further on Phil’s cock. Phil isn’t sure exactly when it goes from soft to downright fucking needy, but the sweat it’s pulling from his pores is every emotion he’s been feeling for the past five years.

‘Oh God, Dan,’ he moans, leaving the safe cavern of where his shoulder meets his neck to kiss him, chaste but deep. ‘Oh fuck, you feel so good.’

‘Phil,’ Dan gasps, a soft sheen glossing his forehead. ‘I’m not – you’re so big. I’m so close.’

‘Fuck, don’t stop,’ he begs, voice hitching.

Dan doesn’t – he keeps fucking himself on his cock, dick dribbling pre-come in patches on Phil’s jacket. Phil struggles to breathe; his lungs are filled with Dan and he’s drowning, absolutely smothered with the amenity and the pseudo-love he breeds in them. He’s trembling, fringe matted with perspiration and eyes heavy with something other than anguish for the first time in fuck-knows how long. There’s a floodgate in his chest and it’s breaching it’s limit, just like the growing heat in his gut as Dan’s ass pulls wave after wave of pleasure from his body. He’s at his breaking point and he’s ready to fall apart.

‘Oh fuck, Dan, _Dan_ ,’ he cries. ‘I’m gonna–‘

Phil can feel Dan’s hand immediately drop to his own cock, jerking himself furiously along with his impending orgasm.

‘You’re so good,’ Dan whispers. ‘You make me feel so good. Come, Phil. You deserve it.’

Phil buries his face in Dan’s chest as he lets go. His shoulders shake apart as he’s hit with a blinding heat that rips through him like bullet shards. He cries out, his voice echoing from the tiled walls as he thrusts uncontrollably up into Dan, coming hard. Dan fucks through it, milking absolutely everything Phil has to offer out of him. Then it fades, almost as quick as it arrived, and Phil’s hips fall motionless.

‘Shh, hey, it’s okay.’

Phil doesn’t even realise he’s sobbing until Dan’s arms wrap around him, tugging him in closer to his chest. He can feel Dan’s rapid heartbeat beneath his hot skin and he clings to it, trying desperately to sedate the tears that flood down his cheeks. They weigh a tonne, and when his weeping finally fades to an exhausted sniffle, the shoulders that heave as he sucks in a breath feel ten times lighter.

‘I’m sorry,’ he sighs, avoiding Dan’s gaze as he sits back to wipe at his rough cheeks.

‘Don’t be,’ Dan says, loosening his grip and smiling, a little awkwardly. ‘I mean, I know I’m a good fuck, but I’m not worth crying over.’

Phil hiccups a wet laugh, rubbing his sleeve under his nose.

‘Did you...’ he trails off, glancing up through bleary eyes. ‘Or did my breakdown ruin the mood?’

‘Uh,’ Dan says, motioning down to the white mess on the front of Phil’s jacket with his eyes. ‘Does that answer your question? Sorry, I’ll pay for it to be cleaned.’

‘It’s fine,’ Phil says with a shake of the head.

‘Is it? Because last I heard, you only had twenty quid to throw around.’

‘It’ll be fine. I’m investing it. You’ve heard the stories, right? People down to their last pound, investing it in some company and ending up millionaires,’ Phil pauses, glancing at the lube bottle lying flat on the shelf. ‘Well…it _was_ for investing.’

Dan stares at Phil for a moment, watching as the crippling misery seeps back into his expression, growing alongside his expanding soberness. There’s a bout of still silence, and then Phil’s startling slightly as Dan suddenly moves. He bends to the side, pressing his hand down into the tight space inside his left boot, pulling back out with a handful of crumpled notes.

‘Here,’ he says, shoving what must be close to £150 into Phil’s hands. ‘Take this.’

‘What?’ Phil splutters, looking between the cash and Dan’s serious face. ‘No! I can’t–‘

‘Sure you can,’ Dan says, pushing it away as Phil tries to hand it back. ‘For investing.’

‘I can’t take this, Dan. You’ll get in trouble,’ he says.

‘No I won’t,’ Dan says with a shrug. ‘They’re my tips.’

‘Then I’m _definitely_ not taking it.’

‘But I want you to have it.’

‘It’s your money. You earnt it. I’m not just going to take it.’

‘But I don’t _need_ it,’ Dan huffs. ‘My family are loaded, Phil. I only dance here because I like it. Hell, I only started dancing to piss off my dad. I’m twenty-two and rich and I’m just going to spend it on something stupid, so _please_. Take it.’

Phil’s hands hesitate on the wad of cash as Dan wraps his own around them. He squeezes tightly.

‘Invest it,’ he says. ‘Spend it on the dry-cleaning. Whatever. Just take it.’

Phil’s eyes burn as they linger on Dan’s graceful, manicured hands, pressed flat against his own.

‘Thank you,’ he whispers, but it isn’t enough – the English language doesn’t provide words strong enough to express the gratitude he feels.

‘There is one condition, though,’ Dan says.

‘What’s that?’ Phil asks, looking up into Dan’s beautiful, smiling face.

‘When you’re one of those millionaires, I expect you to swing by and take me for a ride in your Lambo.’

Phil laughs, loud and genuine; his heart skips a beat at Dan’s huge grin.

‘I will,’ he says fondly.

‘You promise?’

‘Yeah,’ Phil says, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. ‘I promise.’


End file.
